Walking In The Spider Web
by jjonahjameson
Summary: (Movie) Peter wasn't the only one coming of age during the events in the movie. MJ-centered, mostly new scenes and action.
1. New York Is Getting Weirder All the Time

**_Chapter One: New York Is Getting Weirder All the Time_**

The last thing Carla Nueken was expecting to happen at a scientific presentation was an explosive attack. Given recent events, maybe she should have known better.

"I am proud to announce that SicCo's has recently made a giant breakthrough in laser weapon technology..." the fat scientist at the podium bellowed. The podium was at the head of the auditorium in the famous Colonial Rotunda. All around the small oval room, life-sized bronze statues of the Founding Fathers were spaced between imposing marble columns. Serious faces of revered historical figures frowned down at the pool of brown flip chairs filled with military personnel and congressional advisers. SicCo's research and development crew was seated on folding chairs behind the podium, looking nervous. If Dr. Murphy, sweating under the lights on stage, could manage to sell the idea for the new hand-held laser blasters to the skeptical VIP's he was addressing, his company could end up with grant money, prestige, and rising stock values. After the recent disasters affecting the military's R&D program, Washington representatives were ready to listen.

SicCo's leading technical research scientist, Carla Nueken, sitting on stage next to the podium dressed in a business suit rather than her usual white lab coat, tried not to hold her breath while Dr. Murphy went on with his speech, persuasively pointing out military benefits to be had by supporting their program with generous grants.

Two weeks ago, Carla knew that SicCo wouldn't have had a chance. General Slocum had been the head of the committee in charge of experimental research grants, and he was well known for his partiality for Quest. And the older grants had all gone to OsCorp, a company big enough to fund biomolecular research as well as develop military hardware like that glider they were rumored to have perfected. But Slocum was dead, OsCorp's performance enhancers had failed, and the glider was gone. Too bad about that. Carla itched to get her hands on the glider's anti-grav apparatus. A hopeless techie since childhood, she was happy only when she was taking a device apart, figuring out how it worked, and making it better. If the military awarded this contract to SicCo, maybe the lab could afford to buy another grav-scope...

"SicCo is ready—no, eager!—to step into the void left by the unfortunate events at OsCorp and Quest," Murphy continued forcefully. He wasn't much of a scientist, Carla mused, but he was a great salesman. His impressive bulk made him look like a high-tech Santa Claus, trustworthy and kind. And although his statement that SicCo was ready to go was pushing it—the las-blast was far from developed—their product beat the heck out of a missing glider and a bombed-out exoskeleton.

Dwarfed by the high-arched ceilings and posed in front of the benevolent figures of Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson, Murphy fielded questions from the members of the select audience, all of whom had the kind of security clearances and political power that made the real decisions for America's military future. Carla, trying to figure out whether or not the project would fly, was so wrapped up in the on-going sales pitch that she missed the first ominous rumble. It wasn't until the second blast hit the domed building that she looked up, jaw falling in shock.

Repeated heavy thuds shook the Rotunda, sending plaster cascading downward. Men and women in uniform stood up, recognizing the sound of small-arm missiles and wondering if someone should take command of the situation; the civilians present stood up aimlessly, uncertain what to do. A few seconds later, a large section of reinforced concrete broke free from the ceiling and crashed down through the center of the auditorium. Panic took over, people running and screaming, some trying to get out of the building, others looking for cover, a few yelling for calm or shouting orders. An older man wearing a pin-stripped suit cowered beside the chunk of concrete that had come within inches of killing him, sobbing harshly. Over the ruckus, a menacing laugh rang out.

Carla couldn't believe her eyes as a silver one-man glider, consisting of nothing but two bat-shaped, powerful wings, slid skillfully through the new hole in the roof and swooped across the auditorium's airspace. A man covered by a suit made of some strange, gleaming green alloy crouched on top of the wings, controlling the glider's dips and swerves with unnatural grace. His face was hidden by a long mask that seemed designed less to protect his face than to terrify on-lookers; it had large yellow eyepieces and a stylized fanged mouth. Carla stood in motionless shock as the nightmare attacker flew toward the stage, still laughing maniacally, and watched a burst of light flare under the glider's wings without comprehension, until the missile hit the podium and the stage erupted into flames.

Thrown sideways, Carla hit the floor hard but didn't feel it. She struggled to her hands and knees, a battered middle-aged woman whose gray-streaked hair was hanging in her face and whose business suit was now covered in plaster dust. Her hands were scraped and bloody and there was a cut over her eye, but miraculously those were the only injuries Carla Nueken would sustain that night. The other scientists who had been on stage would not be so lucky. Carla stared in shock at what remained of Dr. Murphy. The weighty bronze statue of Benjamin Franklin had fallen across his chest, an image so grotesque that Carla's mind refused to take it in.

"You'll pay, you'll all pay! Successful human testing!" the green monster shrieked insanely as another missile hit the stage, followed by the deafening rat-a-tat of machine-gun fire. The research and development crew, who had come to the presentation hoping to secure their jobs for the next decade, ran screaming, unsuccessfully, for their lives. Carla never moved, bullets hitting the broken remains of the stage on either side of her. When the glider looped back through the ragged hole in the ceiling, trailing smoke, it seemed to leave behind the horrible, cackling laugh that would fill her nightmares for years to come.

Later, Police Commissioner Ramos stood amidst the rubble of the historic Colonial Rotunda, watching as the only survivor from the group of people who had been on stage was loaded into an ambulance. He knew the woman would be questioned once the doctors declared it safe—right now she was suffering from shock. Other dazed survivors from the audience were being rounded up, names listed. But the command had already come down from the FBI: the federal agency would be taking over investigation of this incident, which was clearly related to the attacks on Quest and OsCorp. It seemed obvious to Ramos that America's corporate military suppliers were under attack. It seemed equally obvious that what the Feds were most interested in was keeping knowledge of the disasters away from the public. Details of the Quest attack had already been suppressed. But Ramos was willing to bet they couldn't keep reports of this green-loving lunatic out of the news for long.

"Hey, MJ, take a look at this!"

Mary Jane Watson set the box she was carrying down on the floor with an 'oomph' and walked over to the TV. Janeen had the news on, as usual. The smooth-faced reporter was just wrapping up her report—

"—which makes the fourth sighting this week for the masked vigilante. The note he left in the victim's handbag reads simply, "Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

"Amazing, Dona. We'll all have to watch out for spider-bites," her co-anchor joked lamely, "but I bet our meteorologist has some advice for us on avoiding insect bites this summer—" Janeen hit the remote and the picture faded out.

MJ snorted. "I can't believe some guy is running around New York in tights. It's so gay." She brushed her sweaty red hair out of her eyes and said, "Can you help me with the next one? It's heavy."

"Sure," Janeen said. Like Mary Jane, she was dressed in sweat pants and a tank top, ready to help her new roommate move in.

Mary Jane had been thrilled to get the extra bedroom in the apartment. Janeen was a couple years older than her, a massage student and a yoga teacher. When Mrs. Watson had mentioned to her fellow stylist at the beauty salon that her Mary Jane was looking for a place to live in the city, Janeen's mother had jumped at the chance to get a decent girl to share rent with her daughter. Janeen's last roommate had been a heavy drinker and the parties had kept Janeen from studying at home—and health-conscious Janeen had gotten tired of fighting for quiet time to sleep. Mary Jane had liked the thin blond girl from the start, although the wanna-be actress fresh out of high school found Janeen's graceful confidence a little intimidating.

"You know," Janeen said as she and Mary Jane grabbed the opposite sides of the foot locker and hauled it out of the trunk, "last week he found that kid, the one that got snatched at the mall?" They started maneuvering the trunk up the stairs. "He left the kidnappers wrapped up in spider webs hanging off the second floor railing and dropped the kid off at the information desk. It was wild. Dang, this is heavy." Setting the foot locker down, the girls took a breather.

"You gotta wonder what the deal is with him and spiders. I mean, I actually like spiders, but I don't want to, well, be one!"

"Who cares? I'm just impressed that someone is trying to help other people. It, y'know, it deserves some applause, even if he is nuts."

Janeen hefted her side of the box again and Mary Jane followed with her end up the last flight to the apartment, to set it with the rest of her stuff. The pile of boxes and the empty room were exciting, ready to be arranged the way she wanted, decorated the way she wanted. It was her own place, total independence. She'd been waiting for this for so long it seemed unreal that it was actually happening.

The hot afternoon passed fast as Mary Jane unloaded and unpacked. She and Janeen ordered deli and sat around in the middle of half-empty boxes and piles of clothes, eating and talking. When Janeen turned on the local evening news, they saw more coverage of the spider-like hero, including a 'man in the street' series of interviews, with opinions ranging from 'he sucks and I don't like him' to 'guy with eight hands, sounds hot'. MJ didn't say anything else about him, feeling uncomfortable about her earlier flip comments. Janeen was right, it was great he was helping people out. Still, if she and her friends from high school had ever seen someone dressed in a body suit, acting like a spider, they would have laughed their heads off.

When the phone rang, Janeen pushed the mute button for the TV and picked it up. "Hello? Yes, she's here." Raising her eyebrows and grinning, Janeen stage-whispered, "It's a bo-oy," before handing it over. Mary Jane rolled her eyes and took the receiver. "Harry! Hey, yeah, getting moved in." "Uh-huh," she twiddled the cord around a finger, "Yeah, uh, that's Janeen, my new roommate." She shot an amused glace at Janeen, who was lounging on the couch. "No, she's pretty, why, you looking to replace me?" "Yeah, that'd be great. See you then." MJ hung up.

Janeen let her head fall back and looked sideways at MJ, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "So, boyfriend?" she asked.

"I guess. We've been going out for a few weeks now, since graduation."

"Come on, details. Name, rank, serial number..."

Mary Jane blushed. "Well, Harry Osbourne, went to my high school—well, last couple of years—good looking, nice guy. He just got an apartment a few blocks away from here. In fact, he's rooming with my old next-door neighbor." Mary Jane smiled, thinking about Peter standing in the back yard, telling her how great she'd been in all the school plays, even if what he remembered was that stupid first grade Cinderella show.

"Sounds great. Wish I could find a nice guy. Everyone I end up dating is a jerk."

"I hear ya," MJ groaned. "My last boyfriend? Did he ever need to get over his testosterone..." The two girls chatted until late, trying to fit all of Mary Jane's belongings into a few inadequate pieces of second-hand furniture. After Janeen finally gave up, yawning, and went to her own bedroom, Mary Jane sat for awhile on the edge of her futon, looking at her reflection in the mirror propped against the wall next to her. Unexpectedly, she felt depressed and a little lonely in this strange place. She looked over her red hair, her too-fat round face, her short nose. God, she'd give anything to be elegant, to trade in her own cutesie looks for something striking, more mature. She wondered what she'd look like if she dyed her hair black...but Harry loved her red hair, was always talking about how pretty it was. It gave her a thrill to think about Harry, the look on his face when she said she'd go out with him—like he couldn't believe it. He'd told her more than once that he couldn't wait for her to meet his dad. MJ grimaced at her reflection. She knew he didn't mean anything, well, serious with that—hey, they'd been dating two weeks, c'mon—it just made her uncomfortable. It was obvious that Harry saw his father as the next-best thing to God. Maybe, if your father was a successful, wealthy businessman, that was normal. Maybe, if your father wasn't an emotionally abusive creep, you wanted to share your life with him, tell him about your new girlfriend. She was the one acting abnormally sensitive about the whole thing.

_You're just tired_, she told herself. _Get some sleep and tomorrow everything will look fantastic again. You've got your own place!_ Mary Jane got ready for bed, brushing her teeth and shedding her dirty sweats for a clean pair and an old T-shirt. _You need some sleep to clear the cobwebs out of your head._ She chuckled to herself. _Just can't get away from spiders today_.


	2. Flash Back

**_Chapter Two: Flash Back_**

Spider-Man looked down at the streets of the city from a perch high on the vertical wall of a twenty-story building. From this distance, the cars looked like expensive toys, lit up and moving past miniature streetlamps and tiny doll-like pedestrians. He wondered how there could be so many people with reasons to be out at nearly three in the morning. A few minutes ago Spidey had stopped a break-in, coming down out of the sky at a gang of young men wearing stocking caps, carrying TV sets and even furniture out of a drab apartment building. The family inside had been tied up but not hurt, which made this a good night for Spider-Man. Now, resting his wrists on his bent knees, totally unconcerned that he was sideways to the rest of the world, he took a few minutes to enjoy his own unique perspective before heading home. No way was he planning on waking up early the next morning.

Mary Jane was awake early the next morning, so worked up over her first real audition that she was ready to leave an hour ahead of time. Janeen, whose first class wasn't until nine, sat around eating Grape Nuts and watching the morning news. As MJ headed out the door, she could hear the anchorwoman saying, "It's looks like Mayor Kelly will be running for the senate on a platform including Mutant Awareness issues..." _Politics_, thought Mary Jane. _Can you get more boring?_ She pulled the door shut behind her.

The audition was terrible. It's not like Mary Jane expected Broadway to fall at her feet. Everyone knew it was tough, breaking into acting. Everyone knew it took guts, persistence, talent, and luck. But she hadn't expected to walk into a room full of aspiring actors and feel like an outsider.

All through high school, Mary Jane had auditioned for every school play, gotten practically every leading role. Her parents had never been willing to pay for summer workshops with the local university, but Mary Jane had gotten all the experience she could with the community theater, acting with weekend artists who'd never made it or never tried, who went back to their jobs as accountants and cashiers and teachers when the play was over.

And she had spent hours lolling around on her bed, or on the floor in Lisa's bedroom, reading through movie magazines. She and Lisa gone over the clothes, the make-up, the look of every actress in exhaustive detail. They'd giggled over the thought of working with hunks like Orlando Bloom, wondering what it would be like to have a love scene with a hot guy. Lisa, who wanted to be a fashion designer, had put together outfit after outfit for herself and for Mary Jane. She'd thought she was ready to go for the real thing.

When she went in for her first audition, for a television commercial, she found herself sitting next to a tall guy with dark hair who looked like he might be twenty-five or six. He had his back turned to her, talking excitedly with a lovely brunette wearing a sleek grey pantsuit that made Mary Jane's crop top and skirt look unsophisticated and shapeless. Words like "justification" and "super-objective" floated around their conversation. Mary Jane finally figured out they were discussing acting technique when they smirked over the performance of the actress standing at the front of the room, reading out "Whiter than I thought teeth could get," over and over with various tones of voice and poses. Everyone seemed serious, professional and slightly desperate. Mary Jane had come after finding the audition call posted at a community theater, with the vague idea that a toothpaste commercial would be easier than plunging right in to play auditions. She'd known enough to bring a portfolio with a studio portrait and her pitifully short résumé but self-consciously covered them in her lap, wishing she could be somewhere else.

The woman auditioning finished with a mumbled comment from the casting director and left, looking resigned. Everyone shifted around as a distinguished-looking older man stepped up and began to read the same line. The dark-haired actor sitting next to her turned to light a cigarette (his third) and noticed her sitting next to him.

"Hey, haven't seen you making the rounds. New?" he asked, in a friendly voice.

"That obvious?" said MJ.

"Sorry, girlfriend, but yeah. You look terrified." He waved his cigarette carelessly, indicating her from head to foot. "You need to take a deep breath, relax a little. I'm Marco, by the way.

"Um, yeah." Mary Jane took a deep breath, letting her tight shoulders release, and stretched her mouth into a smile. "I'm Mary Jane, MJ."

"Nice to meet you, MJ. Looks like I'm up—I'd wish you luck but I'm saving it for myself." Marco grinned at her and MJ thought resentfully that he'd probably get the job, the way his teeth gleamed.

After what seemed like an endless wait, Mary Jane was called up front and tried to put emotion into a line that by this time was driving her insane. The audition itself was over in a ridiculously short period of time, and the casting director didn't do more than grunt to indicate that she could leave. Walking out of the building, MJ felt shaky and depressed. Picking up the pace, she tried to get away from the embarrassing experience as fast as possible.

"Hi, MJ! Wait up!" The redhead turned, surprised, to see Marco walking up to her from where he'd been leaning against the building. "Thought maybe we could have a latte or something. There's a Starbucks right down the block," he said. Seeing her hesitation, he added, "Non-psycho no-pressure friendly latte."

MJ laughed and nodded, turning to walk with him. They found a booth in the café and Mary Jane defiantly ordered a caramel latte, diet be damned. Marco was fun to talk to, joking around, although he continued to make Mary Jane feel naive and ignorant with his references to acting and to the New York acting scene. After a while, he put his head to one side and looked at her thoughtfully.

"You'll get it, hon, don't worry," he said.

"Huh?"

"Just give it a little time, you'll get a handle on auditioning. Watch what people do, especially the ones that impress you. Try to figure out what makes them good—not just their acting, but their presentation of themselves, the way the directors react. Take some classes or attend some workshops too, if you get the chance, but just—well, you're doing exactly right. Just jump in and keep going."

Staring intently at her drink, Mary Jane chuckled softly and said, "Thanks. I needed to hear some friendly advice, I'm feeling lost here."

"Free of charge, unlike this ridiculously priced trend-oid drink." Marco took a swallow. "God, I could use that job."

"No kidding. I've got some money from graduation, but it looks like I'll be applying at fast food joints soon if I intend to pay my rent. My boyfriend will love that, he's—well, he's got no money worries, and an actress is glamorous. I can't see him dating a short-order cook."

"Rich kid, huh? He got a cute older brother?" Marco wagged his eyebrows at her and she relaxed more, relieved to find that her new friend was just exactly that. By the time they'd finished their drinks, Marco had given her some information on a workshop being held at a little back street theater that would be holding auditions the week after for their summer run. As they walked together toward the subway, she was still avoiding the whole audition memory, but reassured herself that she'd taken the first step toward plugging into this new world of acting, making her first friend and her first connection.

Marco and Mary Jane passed a blond guy with a cowboy hat and a guitar at the foot of the subway stairs, who was singing enthusiastically, "Look out, Woo! here comes the Spider-Man!" They parted at the platform and MJ caught a train headed her way.

Funny thing was, Marco had looked—and acted, sometimes—a lot like Flash Thompson, her old boyfriend. She snorted, imagining Flash's reaction if she said that to him. But Flash had the same clean-cut good looks, and the same class-clown sense of humor. But Flash was a bully, too, always trying to prove himself by pushing other people around. She remembered the fight he'd gotten into with Peter Parker, just before school ended.

That had been weird. Not Flash deciding that he had to beat Peter up because the poor guy had somehow managed to spill his lunch tray all over Flash; that was expected, although she'd tried to talk him out of it. Flash had followed Peter out to the hall, and thrown a punch that missed Peter's head by an inch and dented Peter's locker. A crowd of students formed, and that was normal too. Everyone had waited to see Flash deck the smaller kid, or to see if a teacher stepped in to stop it in time. That creep Thad had jumped in to help Flash out.

And then Peter had started fighting back. Thad backed out of the fight as soon as he'd realized it was going to be harder than just shoving a scared geek around—he was a coward and MJ had never liked him, even though he was Flash's best friend. Mary Jane had asked Harry to help out, but by then it was obvious that Peter didn't need the help. And that was the weird part.

Mary Jane frowned to herself. It had all happened so fast, so couldn't remember just how Flash had ended up flat on his back halfway down the hall, with another tray full of food dumped on top of him. She only remembered Peter standing there, fist still raised, looking as astonished as everyone else. She supposed it was a good example of how sometimes all it took to stand up to a bully was a little courage.

Afterward, when Flash had gotten cleaned up and changed into his P.E. shirt, Mary Jane was afraid he might go after Peter again. She liked Pete, who had been her next-door neighbor forever, although they'd never hung out together. But Flash had shrugged it off, his anger gone as fast as it had come. Thad had gone on and on about Peter being a freak, still mad, but Flash was never the kind of person to hold a grudge and eventually Thad had shut up. If anything, Flash had seemed to have some respect for Peter after the fight. And Flash had been too excited about his birthday present—a brand-new silver Dodge Viper—to think about Peter for long.

Leaving the subway and walking the two blocks back to her apartment down the sunlit street, MJ passed by a newspaper vending machine. The paper in the window had a blurry black-and-white picture of the city and a bold headline that read "Who is Spider-Man?" She paused and saw that a small dark figure in the upper center of the picture, apparently flying or swinging through the air, had been circled. On an impulse, she dropped in some change and bought the paper. Taking it up to her apartment, she read the article, which basically re-hashed the news from the last few nights and included a photo-copy of the handwritten 'friendly neighborhood Spider-Man' note. The whole thing reminded her of Big Foot pictures or tabloid UFO articles. It was hard to take seriously.

Before the end of the week, Mary Jane had found a job waiting tables at a skuzzy little diner, attended an acting workshop with Marco, started to realize just how hard getting into acting was going to be, and gotten into a fight with her roommate when Janeen complained that her yoga students were having a hard time reaching her because MJ was always on the phone. When Lisa, her best friend from high school, invited her over Friday night, she was ready for a break.

Lisa was still living with her parents, working at a department store and saving up money for art school. MJ flopped down on Lisa's bed in her familiar bedroom, glad to be somewhere that felt more like home to her than her own home did. She and Lisa spent a few happy hours catching up on each other's lives.

Lisa pulled open a bag of chocolate cookies. "No way," Mary Jane said. "You should see how thin some of these actresses are."

"No, go on, they're low-fat," Lisa pulled out a handful and handed the bag over.

Mary Jane gave in and grabbed a couple for herself, munching as she went on, "so Harry and I have been out on, I guess, four or five dates now. Seems pretty serious."

"You rock. Do you know how rich the Osborns are? Forget it. Three weeks after graduation and you've managed to trade up." Lisa was clearly envious.

"Oh, come on. It's not that...Harry's really nice."

"Nice? Oh, there's an exciting word."

"Lisa!" MJ was turning red, embarrassed by her friend's open assumption that she was dating Harry for his money.

"Hey, I'm just saying, smart move." Lisa licked the center out of her next cookie. "And he's not bad. I could go for him."

"Yeah, right," MJ laughed. "Like I'd give you the chance." Finished with her cookies, she picked silently at the bedspread for a minute. "You know, I haven't told him I got a job as a waitress."

Lisa stretched. "I can see that. Go classy if you can."

Mary Jane opened her mouth, wanting to talk about how different acting was than what she expected, wanting to tell someone that she felt lonely, that she wasn't sure she could make it. She shut her mouth again without speaking and then said, "Are we going to watch a movie?"

Lisa stood up and walked over to the TV. "What do you want to watch first?"

MJ let her decide. The evening had gone flat, and Mary Jane wondered if she'd secretly been hoping that Lisa would talk her out of lying to Harry, reassure her that she was good enough for him, waitress or not. Kicking back, she forced herself to stop thinking about it, losing herself in _Under The Tuscan Sun_. It's not like Harry or Lisa or anyone else wanted to hear her whine. She could do bright, happy and confident. She'd been doing it for years.

_After all_, Mary Jane thought, _it's who you convince people you are that counts_.

Norman Osborn strode through the halls at the main OsCorp laboratory in his white coat, nodding regally at the employees he passed. He was a tall, dark-haired man with a lined, intelligent face and an athletic shape that seemed to barely contain the dynamic energy of the man. His son, Harry, a less-impressive copy, was slouching along beside him, staring moodily at the floor. Norman sighed to himself. It was so hard to have a son that lacked even the most basic interest in his work. It wasn't like he demanded genius from the boy (now, that Parker kid, there was someone with potential); he only wanted an heir who occasionally came out of his adolescent sulks and paid attention. And after all the strings Norman had pulled to get the boy into Colombia University, with his rotten grades, he'd even had the nerve to protest the curriculum that Norman had set up for him. How was he going to run OsCorp someday without a few science classes under his belt? It wasn't like Norman was an unfeeling father. He remembered the conversation.

_"Well, Harry, if you're interested in some other field, I'm willing to listen. I've never wanted to push you." Harry rolled his eyes, and Norman kept his temper with superhuman effort. Something inside him had whispered about how an ungrateful child was a burden and he had clamped down on it fast, before it could make any suggestions on what to do about Harry. All parents found their kids exasperating at times. You loved them anyway, right? Norman smiled paternally at Harry._

_"Dad, I don't know. I, well, I don't think I'm much good at this whole science thing. I don't..."_

_"You don't what? You don't have any interests?" Norman snapped. Harry was silent. "I can't help you out if I don't know what you want, Harry," Norman continued with a sigh, oh so reasonably. Harry didn't appreciate how reasonable he was. "Why not take the science/business curriculum we've got set up for you until you know what you want? Hmm? Parker can help you with it, can't he?"_

_"Oh sure," Harry said bitterly. "Peter's great. Peter knows it all, Peter can help me out. Can we not talk about Peter for once?"_

_"Fine, Harry." Norman closed his eyes and fantasized briefly about a son who didn't whine and need support all the time, a son who would give him confidence in the future, follow in his footsteps, a son like Peter...Then he opened them again and looked at Harry. It was time to be stern, let Harry know that he had to pick up the slack. Somewhere in the back of his head Norman heard a laugh bubbling up, and shoved it back...no, he didn't want to hear...there was nothing there...only, he had a headache again. They seemed to come more often these days. He realized that he'd been looking at Harry without speaking for a few minutes now, and Harry had an odd look on his face. Almost scared._

_Like Harry could ever have any reason to be scared of his father._

_"Look, Dad, it's...hey, it's no sweat," Harry said rapidly. "I...uh, can take the classes. You're right, I need to get a handle on what I want." Harry paused a moment and gazed at the floor. "It's not easy, you know," he added softly. "I've got a hard act to follow."_

Not that Harry's grades were any better now than they'd been in high school. Norman had asked him to come and spend the day together, do some father-son bonding. He'd let Harry tag along all morning, listen in on important negotiations, look over the new projects and all the frantic activity that was making OsCorp once more the bustling, important company he'd spent his life building. That minor slump, a few months ago, when it looked like OsCorp was losing ground to its competitors, that was a thing of the past, definitely a thing of the past!

"Look at it, Harry," Norman proclaimed, waving one hand grandly. A passing technician ducked out of the way, but he didn't notice. "Since Quest Aerospace was unable to come through on its promises, people have started to realize that firm commitment, a willingness to stick to it during hard times, is worth more than a flashy design. It's quality that counts, boy. Quality built the business that's going to be yours someday."

"Yeah, it's...it's really something, Dad." Harry glanced at a computer-controlled experiment with such obvious incomprehension that Norman winced. They climbed the short flight of stairs and leaned on the railing that overlooked the main floor.

"Quality...and loyalty." Norman's voice dropped and deepened, and for an instant he sounded almost like a different person. Harry looked at him with concern. "Look. All these people, all these people working, not for the money, not for fame—although they're getting both, Harry, working for a company like this. No, they've got loyalty. The kind of loyalty that comes through in a pinch, loyalty to something greater than they are."  
  
Harry thought his father looked odd, over-intense, almost fevered, and he couldn't help but see that the quiet assistant standing behind him had a skeptical, almost disbelieving expression on her face. For an instant, he thought maybe his father was getting carried away with his own vision. But he knew it was right. His father was an important person, always busy, always demanding the best. He had to, with so much depending on him, all these people, their jobs, everything Norman Osborn had built over his lifetime. Harry had never been able to be the kind of person his father needed to support him, and he had a constant, hard knot in his stomach from his fear that he never could be. If he could do better, pay more attention in school, get his head around the stuff they threw at him in class, then he would spend time with his father. He'd be worth his father's time. After all, you had to earn approval.

"It's really great, Dad," Harry said, and meant it.


	3. Hey, Glamour Girl

**_Chapter Three: Hey, Glamour Girl_**

"One cheeseburger and fries, two Moonbeam specials, side of coleslaw," Mary Jane yelled over the counter, clipping the order ticket to the wheel and spinning it around. The cooks would put it back on the tray when the order was up. MJ moved to start filling drinks for the booth in the corner.

Actresses were supposed to wait tables, it was a tradition, right? Like writers were supposed to starve. It sounded romantic, the down-and-out part at the beginning of a star's success story. But it wasn't romantic while you were doing it. The redhead delivered the drinks to the customers at the booth, who thanked her and went on talking about the Yankees chances in the series. A screaming kid a few booths down was giving her a headache, so she rummaged behind the counter for the crayons and cheap coloring sheets that were kept there. The harassed mother gave her a grateful look when she brought them out and the kid, distracted, stopped yelling. She took an order form a group of construction workers who gave her the once-over and managed to make ordering hamburgers sound rude. One of the cooks yelled 'order up!' and Mary Jane hustled back to the counter between the diner and the kitchen. All for sub-minimum wage and whatever you could get from a cheap public in tips. After working here for four months, she found herself dreaming about taking orders and was sure that the smell of grease was never going to come out of her skin. Man, was she ready for her shift to end.

Enrique, in his dirty white apron, leaned against the coffee bar and watched the NYWL on a color TV perched on a cracked plastic shelf. The volume was up loud enough for him to hear over the buzz from the customers, and the extra layer of noise gave Mary Jane a headache even on good days.

"Get ready for blood-curdling action!" bellowed a greasy-looking man in a loud purple jacket with a gold Cadillac medallion hanging around his neck. He let his voice swell dramatically as he announced, "Bone-Saw McGraw, terror of the ring, takes on all comers. What man can stand against this master of mayhem?" A cluster of curvy girls wearing patches of black and silver smirked and huddled around the huge wrestler, who nodded and glared at the screaming audience.

Mary Jane rang up the bill for a departing couple who argued over the total, claimed they hadn't ordered two iced teas, and complained that the food had been cold. After they left, she took a minute to tuck her hair back behind her ears, looking at her reflection in the silver case of the soda machine, listening absently to the television.

"Why, this colossus of carnage even held out..." the announcer lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, "for three, yes folks, three minutes in the ring, with the Amazing Spider-Man!" Mary Jane glanced, surprised, at the screen as the picture shifted to a clip of a previous bout, showing a small, masked figure in loose red and blue clothes flipping unbelievably high over Bone-Saw's head, cutting immediately to shots of Bone-Saw swinging a chair at Spider-Man's back, and a close-in shot of Spider-Man kicking Bone-Saw across the ring. "Folks, even Spider-Man knew he had to measure up to Bone-Saw's challenge before taking on the mean streets of New York! Who's ready to be next? I know who...the voracious, the vicious, the vindictive...Road Rager!" The camera followed his pointing finger to a bearded man dressed in a bright yellow and red costume covered with pictures of silver wheels, who was shouting "I'm gonna run you down!"

"You done playing with your hair, Ms. Watson?" Enrique asked sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest. "We got people waiting, girl." Mary Jane got back to work, mentally counting the minutes until she could leave.

When she finally went into the backroom and grabbed her coat, Mary Jane was moving fast, hoping to get out of the diner ahead of the construction workers. The beefy one had already asked for her number and was one of those jerks who thought that when a girl told him to get lost it was because she was playing hard to get. She headed out the front door, under the "Moondance" sign with its grimy, dull glitter. She went around the corner with her head bent, pulling her coat around her and hoping she'd get clear without being noticed. She was halfway across the street when she heard a voice shout, "Hey!"

"Buzz off," MJ said, bothered and tired. She heard steps running up behind her, and then, unexpectedly, her name. "MJ, it's me, Peter!"

"Hi!" Mary Jane came to a stop in the middle of the street. "Hey," Peter grinned back.

He looked different to her, although his brown hair was still short and unfashionably brushed and his face was still the friendly, ordinary face of the boy who had lived next door to her forever. But his blue eyes—so much more noticeable since he got contacts—were direct and confident, and there wasn't a trace of the apologetic hunch that had so clearly broadcast his insecurity to the bullies and creeps in high school.

"Wow, what are you doing around here?" MJ held her hair back as the wind blew it around her face, surprised at the warmth she felt seeing him. Peter wasn't someone she'd ever thought she'd miss—she couldn't even remember if he'd signed her yearbook.

"I'm, uh, I'm begging for a job." Peter looked sheepish, waving a newspaper a little in explanation. "How 'bout you?"

"Oh, I'm headed to an audition." Mary Jane lied hesitantly. Not that it mattered what Peter thought about her job, but Harry was his best friend, and she didn't want Peter telling him the truth. Besides, it sounded so much better than, _Well, hey, I've got this crappy job as a waitress..._

"An audition? So you're acting now?" Peter said, excited. "Yeah, I...I work steady. In fact, I just got off a job." MJ held her coat together to hide her uniform and wished she could end the conversation. The memory of the night she'd stormed out of her house in tears, only to find him taking out the trash and listening to her family fight, came back to her. They'd spent a few moments talking in the dark, a conversation that had somehow turned intense, personal. She'd confided in him her dreams of becoming an actress.

Apparently Peter was thinking about that night, too. "That's great MJ, you're doing it, you're living your dream!"

Distantly, someone shouted, "Hey, Glamour Girl!"

"Yeah," MJ said softly. She hadn't expected him to be so happy for her and she felt even worse. Then she realized that the guy shouting behind her was Enrique, something about her drawer being short. She saw Peter glance over her shoulder at her overweight, greasy boss who was still yelling. Desperately, she ignored it. _Maybe if I just act like I don't hear him he'll go away, I can pretend I don't know who he's talking to..._

"'Scuse me, Ms. WAT-son, I'm talking to you! Hey!" _Oh, God._ She faced her boss and yelled, "Yes, Enrique, OK, I get you."

"Well it better not happen no more, you hear me?" Enrique pointed threateningly at her. "Don't roll your eyes at me." He headed back into the diner. MJ slowly turned back toward Peter, her cheeks burning, staring at the pavement. She didn't want to see his expression. Mary Jane didn't think she had ever been so embarrassed in her life. After a moment of humiliated silence, unable to look him in the eye, she pulled her coat open so he could see her tacky uniform in all its glory. Taking a deep breath, she finally looked up. "Some dream, huh?"

Peter gave her a sympathetic smile. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about," he said quietly.

"Don't tell Harry," MJ blurted.

"Don't tell Harry," Peter repeated blankly.

"Aren't you guys living together? We're going out, didn't he tell you?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Peter said, still looking confused, and MJ groaned to herself. Pete didn't understand why she wanted to keep her job a secret. He was the kind of sweet, naive idiot who would always get lost because he didn't know how to play the game or understand how sometimes you had to...bend the truth, slightly, to make a relationship work. She could see him getting used by whoever he ended up with, because he'd always be honest with a girl and never suspect that she wasn't honest right back. And the last thing MJ wanted to do was explain it to him. It made her sound so, well, manipulative...but she had to get him to understand, not to run home and mention casually, _Guess what, Harry, I saw MJ working at a diner today.._. so she explained. "I think he'd hate the idea of me working tables. He'd think it was low, or something."

"That's not low. You have a job," Peter said seriously. He added, "You know, Harry...he doesn't live on a little place I like to call Earth."

Mary Jane chuckled. "No, I...I guess not." It was like Peter had released a line inside her that had stretched taut, waiting for the inevitable criticism, waiting for the put-down. Relief made her smile, and she saw Peter smile back, happy for no other reason than that he'd made her grin. They smiled together until the pause in the conversation got doofy, while she thought over what he'd said.

He could've lectured her about honesty. Or he could have told her that Harry cared about her whether or not she was a waitress. She wouldn't have believed that. Instead, in a few short words, he'd helped her see herself from a new perspective. She wondered if she could learn to take pride in having a job, supporting herself, regardless of what Harry thought. That maybe the expectations of a guy with no idea what it was like to have to pay the bills were unrealistic, even if she had to deal with them—but she could laugh about them, too. It was an idea to consider.

"Thanks, Pete," she said sincerely, and went on brightly, "We should catch up sometime." She moved away from him with a new lift in her step. Lisa was coming over so they could go club hopping together and she should get home in time to shower and change.

Peter called out as she reached the curb, "Let's get some lunch some evening!" Mary Jane looked back at him quizzically. OK, so Peter hadn't lost all his awkwardness from high school. He fumbled for a second or two and added, "Well, I...I'll come by and have some of your Moondance coffee, sometime. And I won't tell Harry."

"No, don't tell Harry." Who wasn't invited along on this girls' night out. It was going to be MJ and her friends, no pressure, nothing but fun.

"I won't!"

Mary Jane walked on down the street, smiling to herself.

Norman Osborn was sitting in his luxurious study, smiling to himself, surrounded by his expensive collection of tribal masks. The federal agents had just left. It was sweet, how hard they had tried not to say anything that could offend him, to show how much they regretted taking up his valuable time, how they had sympathized over the death of Dr. Strom and the loss of the glider and flight suit. One of them, a short redhead, had warned him in a serious voice that further attacks on OsCorp were possible. It was a measure of success, that's what it was. When government agents treated you like the important person you were. Of course, he couldn't help them any. He had no idea what kind of maniac could be behind the attacks on innocent research companies. It was just terrible.

Terrible. Of course, for OsCorp, it wasn't working out badly. Quest was recovering from the bombing, SicCo was going under now that it had lost most of its better personnel, and OsCorp had been there to pick up the pieces. Norman thought further attacks were unlikely, after all, everything was fine. Every cloud had a silver lining, it seemed. Even if none of the work being done now had the brilliant potential of the glider, or the performance enhancers.

Performance enhancers...he'd had to shut that project down, right? Damn, this headache made it hard to think. Right. They needed to replace Dr. Strom, find some really top-notch people who could take advantage of the kind of support OsCorp had to offer. Norman made a note to look around, make some offers. Naturally, anyone would jump at the chance to work for him. It was only a question of who he wanted.

Too bad Parker was too young still. Norman foresaw a day when Peter Parker would go to work for him, help him move OsCorp into the future. It was becoming more and more important to him, to have Peter's future to rely on. He and Harry, they were like brothers, weren't they? Peter would look after Harry. He'd be part of the family.

Norman smiled dreamily to himself, staring at his green walls as he planned out just what would happen. He knew it would work out. Luck had really been on his side, lately.

Sitting at a bar stool at the Coco Bongo later that night, MJ watched people dance. The music was so loud hearing what anyone said was impossible, but a few were holding shouted conversations anyway, too high on drink or good times to care. MJ was elevated herself, although not from anything she was drinking—she'd been feeling good all evening and it was great to be out, with friends, having fun and relaxing. Mary Jane had invited Janeen along at the last moment. They'd made up their fight, Janeen agreeing to get a second phone line installed and MJ agreeing to take over the bills for the first line since she couldn't afford the installation fee for the second one. Janeen was dancing with a thin guy who had no rhythm, managing to look graceful anyway, her long straight hair swaying as she moved. Lisa, in an electric blue outfit that contrasted with her dark skin, was taking a break with MJ, the pounding vibration from the music washing over them while they cooled off. Mary Jane was eighteen, looked hot, had an apartment in the Village, a cool boyfriend, and tons of friends. Life rocked.

"Girlfriend!" a deep voice shouted in her ear. MJ turned and squealed as she saw Marco standing by her. He was decked out to party—Mary Jane loved the look. She saw Lisa look him up and down and grinned. After a lot of screaming and hand signals, Marco and a short, white-haired girl who was with him joined MJ, Janeen and Lisa outside the club and headed to an all-night café. Marco introduced his exotic friend as Shawnee, and the five of them sat crammed into a booth talking and laughing until after midnight.

In the girl's room fixing hair and make-up, MJ mentioned to Lisa that she'd seen Peter Parker that afternoon. Lisa immediately screamed with laughter. "Oh man, he was such a dork. Do you remember, he used to miss the bus, like, every morning? Running along trying to get the driver to stop?"

"Hey come on, he's a nice guy," MJ said defensively. She was already wishing she hadn't brought him up. Janeen fluffed her out hair and said, "Isn't he the one rooming with your boyfriend? You've mentioned him before." Shawnee, running a line of black around the edge of her lips, added, "Hell, I was a dork in high school too. I was so trying to prove myself, being the good little girl for all the teachers." Looking at her now, in black leather that barely covered everything legally necessary, black make-up and shock-white hair, MJ had a hard time picturing her in high school.

"Yeah well, this guy was just a nerd," Lisa laughed. "He really needed to grab a clue."

MJ was glad when they went back to the table and the conversation changed. Marco and Janeen had really hit it off—Marco was deep into Buddhist philosophy and they were discussing meditation and non-violence. They were disagreeing enthusiastically about whether or not a vigilante like Spider-Man was helping by holding down local crime or keeping the cycle going by using violence as a means to an end. Lisa was sitting at the edge of the booth, looking bored.

Marco thought MJ should audition for a part in a play Shawnee was doing. Shawnee was a set designer who had been getting attention from several of the bigger managements. She was putting together the sets for this play, some kind of surreal experimental theater centered around a drug-addicted girl with long incomprehensible lines. MJ had read the part and really didn't know what to think about it, but listened absently as Shawnee talked about communicating social inequity through color. It gave her time to think.

She'd known Peter since she was six—he'd been her friend longer than anyone. Well, maybe not her friend, exactly. They'd never spent time together. And MJ knew that was her fault. Peter liked her. He'd never pretended not to, never acted like she didn't matter to him. She'd accepted that without thinking about it, and without valuing it. If you encouraged someone like Peter, there was always the chance that he'd start hanging around you and become embarrassing. It occurred to Mary Jane now that she'd spent all her time with people like Lisa, who probably liked her. Probably. But Lisa would never stand up for her or accept her the way Peter did.

And that afternoon, like the night they'd talked in the backyard, Mary Jane had let the walls down and connected with Peter from a place inside her that she rarely showed to anyone. He seemed to have a gift for reaching in there, making a short conversation with him feel more real than her relationships with Harry, the time that she spent with friends, her life with her parents—god, her parents. Lisa's dismissal of Peter had hurt, and MJ had appreciated the way the older girls, Janeen and Shawnee, had shown a broader outlook. Lisa was still living at home, spending time with more of the old high school crowd than MJ did, and the redhead guessed that old judgments about who was cool and who was not still mattered to Lisa. Maybe they still did to MJ. After all, she could hardly see Peter hanging out at the Club Bongo.

And that was where Mary Jane was happiest, in the middle of an in-crowd. That was where she could shine. So, enough introspection already. MJ tossed her hair back and got back into the conversation. Time to have fun, glamour girl.


	4. Random Acts of Shopping

**_Chapter Four: Random Acts of Shopping_**

Deep inside the Pentagon, there is a armored room filled with shelves and shelves of large crates. Each shelf reaches high overhead and extends the length of the room, which can only be entered by personnel that have been checked, re-checked, cleared, authorized, approved, and monitored. Or by the janitorial staff, one of whom was mopping the floor late the night the disintegration bombs were stolen.

New York, and the country at large, still had not heard about the sinister green apparition targeting weapons research, but national military leaders had been briefed on the attacks that had taken place. Top Washington brass had discussed possible international backers for the sabotage, planned strategically for responsive action, communicated with undercover agents in different terrorist cells, and held several very important meetings.

The idea that the perpetrator was a nut job trying to increase the stock value of his company never occurred to anyone.

No one was prepared for him to be sneaky, either. So far, his actions had been straightforward, brutal, and effective. Tonight, he was going for subtle. Wearing the plain green cotton pants and top that were the Pentagon's official sanitation worker uniform, he passed nearly unnoticed along the maze-like passages. He knew his way well, pulling memories of the Osborn idiot's visits to high-security laboratories out of the confused recesses of his mind.

The easy part had been finding a trash-collector with the right pass. It hadn't taken many nights of surveillance to pick out someone the right height and weight, and to learn his schedule. All of the passes were color-coded, making it simple for the guards to know who was supposed to be there and who wasn't, and his trash-collecting ignoramus kept his red pass clipped to his shirt as he left work each night. Wearing a dark wig, cheek pads altering the shape of his face and pancake makeup altering its color, it had taken only a few seconds for the lunatic to kill his chosen victim in the employee parking lot, stuff him in the trunk of his own car, and saunter with his stolen pass through the gates into the Pentagon itself.

It shouldn't have worked, of course. Guards should have been checking every face against the picture on the pass, retinal scanners should have kept imposters out of high-security areas, redundant check points should have been in place. After it was all over, a committee was appointed to investigate how it could have happened. The committee interviewed dozens of people, were very impressed by the way an electronic device had been used to scramble the video feed of each camera for the crucial seconds while the intruder walked past, and sent in long reports that no one read.

What it came down to is that no security system is as good as it was planned to be. Systems depend on the people who run it, people who get tired and bored and careless. Maybe they weren't so confident that the five-sided building would never be under attack, anymore, but internal security was another issue. After all, you'd have to be insane to try breaking into the heart of the nation's war machine. Insanity gave the thief an edge, a serene and irrational confidence that these clowns were no match for his brains. The guards, who would have jumped all over anyone whose behavior was suspicious, saw a man without a trace of nervousness or fear go by and never thought to question him. The madman had trouble not laughing out loud with glee over his own cleverness.

We won't get into how he got past the retinal scans. This is a PG-13 rated story, friends.

Fifteen minutes after he entered the gates, the tall man dressed in green was standing over the body of a janitor with a mop, in a room full of large crates. His eyes lit up, making him look like a deranged kid in a candy store. His knowledgeable eyes slid over markings, finding what he wanted within seconds. Fists stronger than any normal human's broke heavy crates into kindling, and filled his trash bag with tricks. Yes, this was what he needed, to expand his arsenal. A chuckle escaped him, but no one heard.

Long before anyone realized something was wrong, he had finished shopping, and was gone.

* * *

_I'm so glad to be shopping with my mom. Thank you, Mom, _Mary Jane thought, without a trace of sarcasm.

Harry had invited her to go to the World Unity Fair with him, up in the balcony of the Olympian Building with the big-wigs and board members. She had hesitated, thinking it would be more fun to walk around Times Square, part of the hustle and noise, dancing and eating junk food. But Harry had just kept talking.

_"The view's fantastic, Mary Jane. It's the best way to see the fair—you'll love the buffet, and there's even some private shows for the visiting dignitaries. It's a blast, it beats being down in the crowd, no question."_

_"I don't know, Harry, I mean—I don't think I'd fit in, y'know? I haven't got anything really to wear..."_

_Harry had jumped in immediately. "Wear that black dress, the one you wore to the restaurant the other night! It's perfect, I mean it. Really elegant." Harry smiled, and leaned in to kiss her. "You look elegant. You won't fit in, you'll stand out. Everyone will be wondering how a loser like me could end up with a girl like you." MJ ignored the bitterness in his voice. She was getting so tired of always having to reassure her boyfriend, of trying to argue him out of his insecurities._

_"I guess it'll be fun. It'll be different, for sure. I've never partied with the rich and famous, before." Harry smiled at her, so happy over such a little thing that she couldn't help smiling back. "Don't worry. Before long, you'll _be_ the rich and famous." MJ had laughed and squashed the little voice inside that wondered if Harry meant as an actress...or if he thought her only way up was through him._

_Just before she left, Harry added, "Oh, and my dad will be there. You'll finally get to meet him." Great._

Now, the weekend before the festival, MJ was staying at her parents, in the old familiar house in Forest Hills, Queens. It was partly to spend time with her mother, who was ecstatic, repeating over and over how nice it was to see her, they never saw her anymore. Mary Jane bit her tongue to keep from replying that if she hadn't had laundry to do they wouldn't be seeing her now.

When her dad got home from work Friday night, MJ felt her stomach tighten and start to churn. She'd forgotten, almost, how bad it was around him. She could see in an instant that he had stopped at the bar on the way home from work, getting a head start on being drunk for the weekend. He grunted at his wife, totally ignored his daughter, grabbed a beer from the fridge and let his heavy body fall to the couch.

Mary Jane followed her mom into the kitchen, both of them acting like her dad hadn't walked into the house like a black cloud. _With all the practice I've gotten, I should be the best actress in the world, _she thought. Her mom talked brightly about the beauty salon, but that only filled a few moments. Nothing much was new. As Melanie Watson fell silent, dumping the hamburger mix into a pan, Mary Jane hunted around for a topic to fill the void.

"Oh, hey, I'm going to the World Unity Fair with Harry Osborn," she said. "Up in the balcony, and everything." Mary Jane got out the napkins and some of their mismatched utensils.

"MJ, that's wonderful!" her mother enthused. "Did you hear that? MJ's going to be up in the balcony at the Fair," she called to her husband.

"God, you must be easy," her father, the man she was supposed to look up to, said crudely. "Can't image why else a rich kid like that would want your fat white face around." Mary Jane closed her eyes and clenched her fists around the tableware as her mom started screaming at the slob she'd married. She didn't want Mom to defend her, she didn't want to be here, she didn't want any of this. She kept her eyes closed until her dad, still cursing, slammed his way out the door and back to the bar. Dinner was burning on the stove.

MJ finally looked up at her mother, who had turned the burner off and was standing motionless at the kitchen counter. Watching her stand there, shoulders slumped, a new thought came to Mary Jane, one so simple and so horrible that she felt tears start to sting her eyelids. She was out. She had come back tonight, but she had a new life, a new place to live, somewhere to go. Her mother didn't. This _was_ her mom's life, and for the first time Mary Jane stopped resenting her mom for putting up with him—heck, for marrying him in the first place—and saw her mother as someone she loved, who needed her sympathy, not blame. Or maybe along with the blame, or something. Mary Jane walked over to give her mom a hug. Melanie wiped her heavily mascara-ed eyes carefully and smiled, hugging MJ back. They stepped apart, awkwardly.

"So, um, well, what are you going to wear?" she asked, her voice shaky. "You know, to the Fair?" MJ decided to play along and pretend like the whole scene hadn't happed. She had lots of practice with that, too. "I dunno, maybe that black dress, you know, the one I got from Lisa?"

Her mom sniffed, and started scraping the scorched mess out of the pan. "Ah, well, that's nice...but, something like this. It'd be more fun to have something new, right? Something to knock your boyfriend's socks off," she added. Mary Jane snorted. "That'd work, if I had any money," she said. "I don't get paid for another week, and it's already spent, I swear."

"Well, there's...I've got a little extra," her mom said. "I've been saving it, you know, your birthday's coming up, so it's for you anyway...why don't we celebrate early, get you something? We can hit the sales tomorrow."

Mary Jane looked at her mom for a moment, opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it. She gave her mom another hard hug and said cheerfully, "Sounds like a plan."

So here they were, going from store to store. In high school, MJ wouldn't have wanted to be caught dead shopping with her mom, but she was surprised at how much fun they were having. Not to mention that she wouldn't have had the money to go on her own. It was late in the afternoon when they found the Chinese pink silk dress.

"Oh, darling, look at it," Melanie Watson breathed as MJ came out of the dressing room. "It fits like it was made for you, honest."

Mary Jane, turning in front of the mirror, had to agree. The pattern on the silk was lovely, far more elegant than her black dress, and the tailored contours hugged her waist, making her look both slender and curvy in the right places. "It's perfect, too, it'll fit right in with the theme, everyone will be dressing up in ethnic costumes," she bubbled. Checking the tag again, she said, "Clearance sale, you can't beat that, oh Mom, I swear—this is great!" Bouncing over to give her mom a hug, Mary Jane was grinning widely. Nothing like new clothes to boost you up in a nerve-wracking situation. Harry was going to love it.


	5. The World Unity Fair

**_Chapter Five: The World Unity Fair_**

Janeen sat on the sofa in the living room of their apartment, pulling a brush through her roommate's red hair. Mary Jane was seated in front of her on the floor, dressed only in her underwear. Harry was supposed to pick her up in an hour and she'd given up on getting her hair done herself, frustrated with every look she tried. Janeen had overheard MJ cussing in the bathroom and come in to see how it was going. Before MJ could say a word, Janeen had yelped, "Great idea!", run to her room and returned with a pair of lacquered chopsticks, offering to put her hair back in a twist with them. Agreeing enthusiastically, MJ plopped down on the floor and let Janeen have at it.

"Guess if I ever make it as an actress, I'll have people to do my hair for me all the time," she sighed, leaning her head back.

"Never say if, girl. Determination is what makes it in this world. Right now, I'm determined to get your hair back and make it stay—it's so fine it keeps slipping out of the bun."

Mary Jane laughed. "No kidding. I'd give anything for hair like yours, long and thick."

"Hey, when I was growing up, I hated my little sister for having this great naturally curly hair, really fine and soft. I thought it was so pretty, I spent half of high school with my hair dyed brown and permed. So, my senior year? Little Joanie goes and gets her hair straightened and bleaches it blond because she likes mine so much," Janeen pulled another strand tight.

"Yeah, well, I always wanted a sister. Seems like fun, not being an only child," MJ grunted as Janeen pulled too hard.

"Sorry. Sometimes, although she can be a real pain." Picking up the hairspray, Janeen told her to cover her eyes. After a few seconds, MJ started giggling. "Are you trying to shellac it?"

"You betcha. If I have anything to say about it, this hairstyle is staying up no matter what happens. Here, take a look."

Jumping to her feet, MJ went back to the bathroom and checked her hair out, turning to see as much as she could of the sides and back. "Fantastic!" she yelled back to the living room. Hurrying to get her dress and makeup done, she realized that her bad mood had evaporated. This was going to be fun, just like Harry had promised.

* * *

Norman Osborn strode into his study, black thoughts churning in his mind. He walked right past the full-length mirror on the right, the one that opened on a hidden chamber. The idiot who'd sold him this penthouse years ago had gone on and on about how it had been a stash for moonshine during prohibition. Like he cared. It hadn't ever crossed his mind that his young son might find it fascinating or fun to have a secret room in their house, so he'd never brought it up. The space was unnecessary and he'd forgotten about it, although lately, the mirror had been catching his eye. It had started to make him uneasy when he used the mirror. Today, he strode along without stopping to check his reflection.

After three days with his lawyers, he was forced to admit that the OsCorp board members had every legal right to deal him the treacherous blow he'd taken. _Out, was he?_ The back-stabbing disloyalty was astonishing, unbelievable. He had considered these men his friends, his staunch allies—that they could turn against him, could do this to him! Clenching his fists, he leaned against his desk, eyes closed.

"Dad?" Whirling, Norman glared at his son. "Ah, hi. I...didn't mean to interrupt, I could come by again later," Harry stammered.

"No, no. Of course not," Norman walked around to the balcony doors. He heard Harry come up behind him. "Is something wrong?" the boy asked quietly.

Norman opened his mouth and hesitated. He had to tell Harry, of course. Losing OsCorp would affect his life too. They would hardly be poor, but his legacy, his immortality was gone. The company named for him would disappear in the merger. Harry had to know. It would be publicly announced at the Fair. The humiliation tasted like bile.

Breathing deeply, Norman decided not to say a word. It might be silly to put it off—nothing was going to be different tomorrow, was it? But he couldn't stand to tell Harry now. Telling Harry would make it real somehow. Norman felt a surge of resentment, almost hatred, for his only child. _If Harry was any use, if he'd been working with me, beside me, would this have happened?_ All his anger against the board members was welling up inside him, and it was hard to keep in mind that Harry wasn't one of them, Harry was his family, not a traitor. He forced his lips into a smile.

"I've been working too hard," he said easily. "You know how busy work has been lately."

"Yeah, well," Harry cleared his throat and looked down. "I know you're going to the Unity Fair today, and I thought that I'd bring," he laughed nervously, "that mystery girl I've been dating." Harry looked up at his father. "Her name's Mary Jane, she's an actress."

"An actress?" Norman raised one eyebrow doubtfully. "You mean she waits tables?"

"No, Dad, she's really good. Gets a lot of work," Harry said defensively. "I want you to meet her. She's gorgeous, talented, smart—"

"The kind of girl who's lucky to be dating my son," Norman joked. Harry smiled wanly. "Of course, I'll be there. I can't wait to meet the lady whose been taking up all your time."

Harry looked away, exasperated. "No, hey, don't blame Mary Jane for my grades slipping. I've just been, well, really lost on some of this stuff." He looked at his father. Norman was staring at his reflection in the mirror behind Harry, his eyes distant and eerily blank. Harry waited a heartbeat before going on, "So, I'll see you later today?" There was no answer. "Dad?"

Norman jerked back to awareness. "Absolutely, Harry. I'll be there with bells on."

* * *

Mary Jane held a champagne glass in her hand and looked out over Times Square like a queen in a fairy tale. When she first came outside with Harry, she had gazed out over the crowd, trying to spot Marco and Shawnee, or Lisa. They'd all said they would be there. She'd given up after a few minutes, firmly reminding herself to enjoy being up on the balcony. When would she get a chance like this again?

And it was fun. The limousine ride, the chauffer opening her door, uniformed staff jumping at the chance to treat her like a VIP—it was all exciting and different. Just as Harry had promised, the lunch was incredible and the floor show had been entertaining. Even better, she had seen admiration in the eyes of several of the male guests when they looked at her.

Even if Harry hadn't shared the general approval of her looks today. Much to her disappointment, he hadn't said a word about her dress or hair. _C'mon, girl,_ she told herself. _You don't need people to shower you with compliments all the time. Not even your boyfriend._ Mary Jane thought back to the day before, and audition/workshop she had attended. She still didn't have a part—but she could tell that her work was improving, and the director had made some positive comments about her audition. That was enough to raise her head and bring out the dimples in her cheeks.

_Maybe,_ she thought, surprised, _Harry's nervous._ It occurred to her that Harry needed to look good to his father even more than she needed to succeed as an actress. That hadn't occurred to her before. In fact, she didn't spend much time thinking about what Harry felt or needed. _It's funny, _she mused, _I think I'm a stronger person than Harry. I've got my own moods but...I'm going to be OK. Harry...I don't know if Harry will be. Maybe I'm strong enough to help him out...if I want to._

"MJ, why didn't you wear the black dress?" MJ looked at him, a little puzzled. _Uh, gee, because this one's prettier?_ "It's just, I wanted to impress my father. He loves black," Harry continued.

_OK, that's a ten on the weird scale. Black?_ "Maybe he'll be impressed no matter what," Mary Jane answered reasonably, glad she'd spent the last few minutes giving herself a pep talk. "You think I'm pretty." _So, maybe I need to fish for compliments now and then._

"I think you're beautiful," Harry said. He leaned in to kiss her, but MJ turned away and pretended to be absorbed in the music from below. _So what your dad thinks is more important? _Harry took the insult without a word, turning to look over the edge of the balcony with her. _ I wish you knew what you want, Harry. Heck, I wish I knew what I want. Why am I here with you?_

"MJ, would you do me a favor...I left my drink inside, uh, come on," Harry said suddenly, gesturing to the doors and putting a hand out to guide her. MJ followed quietly, stopping to chat with a businessman who complimented her on her dress. Harry leaned over to talk to the bald man in the wheelchair, one of the OsCorp bigwigs. Above Times Square, a black trail of smoke was streaming toward the Fair.

* * *

As the Green Goblin swooped over the heads of the antlike crowd he couldn't stop laughing. They were pointing and cheering, the fools. He glided from one end of the square to the other, enjoying the irony of their excited approval. Soon, the cheering would stop for good.

On his second pass, he came close to the executive balcony. By now, surely, the OsCorp traitors had recognized their own glider and flight suit. Ha! As if anyone but him had the strength, the reflexes to use this equipment. His own abilities had earned him the right to it, the way they had earned him OsCorp. On the right side of the balcony, a handsome boy stood by a girl in a cheap pink silk dress, gaping at him. The Goblin weighed the small orange bomb in his hand. Throwing it could kill the boy. Did it matter? Well, some things had to be left to chance.

Tossing a bomb from a moving glider was harder than he thought. His aim was off, the bomb impacting below the balcony without killing anyone or causing enough damage to the building to take the balcony down. Hmm. Shifting his weight, he turned to the left, gliding back over the square. Now, the crowd was screaming and running, clearing out as chunks of masonry fell. His laughter stopped as he came in closer this time, right up to where the board members trembled like the cowards they were. "Out, am I?" he screeched, unable to help the words from coming out of his mouth, needing to let the traitors know how badly they'd miscalculated, before he killed them. The second bomb landed perfectly, radiating a shock wave that took the skin off their bones and left the bones to dissolve into dust. Wonderful, wonderful. This was going perfectly!

Momentary curiosity led him back to the other side of the balcony. He rose up from under it, noticing that there was more damage than he'd initially thought—soon enough, it would collapse. The boy was lying senseless by the wall, but the little tramp in pink had been caught on the outer edge, unable to scramble back across the break. Or too scared. He was certain, as he faced her from inches away, that the boy would be better off without the gutless girl. Yes, indeed.

"Hello, my dear," he said.

* * *

Mary Jane had been huddled by the crumbling rail forever. Every minute lasted an eternity, as the stone and mortar creaked around her, trembling with her slightest movement. Her only support was a slab of cement that had once belonged to the building in front of her and that now dangled on the far side of a terrifying gap. She was dimly aware that she had been shouting, _Oh God, help me! Harry!_ but Harry had fallen, hit by a loose piece of concrete. Dazed, she confronted a nightmare that had come out of nowhere, smashing into her without warning. Suddenly, there was nothing between her and death except a precarious section of balcony, her whole world narrowed to an unstable patch of concrete and the dizzying drop underneath.

When a shimmering green monster rose up beside her, she stared at him numbly until he purred a greeting, looking right at her, speaking to her—_Oh, God, why me, why is he looking at me? What does he want?_ Panic breaking over her, she screamed, mindless with horror.

And then he was gone. MJ blinked in shock, almost sobbing. Everything was happening too fast, it was all too strange for her mind to accept. She heard people screaming, heard a sudden burst of gunfire, and she twisted again, trying to get to her knees to see what had happened to that—that thing, that demon. The balcony swayed alarmingly beneath her and she stopped, eyes squeezed shut. Almost, she thought she heard someone shout her name—_Harry?_—and she opened her eyes, reaching out a hand, screaming senselessly, desperately, "Help! Someone, please, help me!" Even that tiny motion set the balcony to shuddering. One of the railing posts broke off and she watched, mesmerized with fear, as it fell...and fell...and shattered to pieces against the ground, so very far down.

Wrenching her eyes from the distant pavement, she realized there was movement, near her, coming across the square. A bright red figure jumped toward her, bouncing from one parade balloon to the next, coming closer, miraculously coming to help her. She held her breath. He was there, almost to her.

And then she screamed again in fear and despair as the green monster hit him from behind, flying into her would-be rescuer with enough force to throw him into a window. Turning her head, she threw up a hand to protect her face as glass daggers exploded outward in a sharp-edged rain. That thing had killed him, and now, now he would kill her. They were wrong, all wrong, death wasn't grim and black and silent—it was green, with terrible yellow eyes, and it was coming for her.

But as she turned back, her eyes widened with hope. Unbelievably, they were still fighting, the first man slugging a red elbow into the monster with enough force to drive him back, following it up, slugging him. Mary Jane felt a hysterical impulse to cheer die in her throat, as the monster overcame him and threw him down. His back hit the ledge above her with enough force to rock the fragment of balcony, and MJ felt the concrete beneath her break free and begin its inevitable surrender to gravity. Overhead, the man flipped fluidly around, facing her with a smooth red mask and expressionless white eyes.

"Hold on!" he shouted. Past his head, she could see a green head rise up, chuckling madly, denying the brief hope she'd felt.

"Watch out!" Mary Jane held up a hand in warning, and the man turned instantly, firing something white at the monster's eyes. It writhed and howled with anger, blinded, while the masked hero, with a quick handspring, reached the underside of his bat-shaped glider and ripped into its wiring. Even as the glider swerved crazily, out of control, the balcony shifted. The slab abruptly tipped parallel to the wall, and her body slammed into the railings, which slid loosely away. She dropped helplessly into the air.

It made her sick, made her feel like she'd left her stomach behind, like every nerve was spooling out from her body and drawing tighter and tighter. MJ had always hated roller coasters and free fall rides and this was worse than all of them, without any chance for the sensation to end except in black, brief pain. She fell flat, the ground rushing up at her face, as she kicked her feet uselessly and screamed and screamed. Her throat was raw with all the screaming she had done, and now she was going to die screaming and there was nothing she could do.

There was a sharp jerk and her insides seemed to change direction, slamming downward as her body floated upward again. It sounded like people were cheering. _Do you get applause when you go to heaven?_ Mary Jane thought, muddled. _It didn't hurt..._she felt something shift her body around and grabbed out, automatically sliding her clenched fists around someone's neck.

The buildings were acting very oddly, swooping and rising as they rushed past. An arm like iron was looped around her waist, holding her tightly against a hard chest. Wonderingly, she turned her head to look at the impassive mask of the man who held her, swinging easily from a line so thin and fine it was almost invisible, except for the glitter of the sun. She gripped him harder, feeling the warmth and reality of him, the solidity of his body welcome against the realization that they were hanging by a thread, far above the ground.

He switched arms around her, throwing out a new line that pulled them into a dizzying curve around the corner of a building. They were flying, not falling, flying in joyous looping arcs over Manhattan. Slipping past a cathedral whose stone towers seemed to soar with them into the sky, her feet suddenly touched soft ground. He held her waist, held her up as he ran a few steps, until she got her feet under her and could stand. All around her was grass and hedges, and a small pool of water lay at her feet, although the city still stretched out around and beneath them.

Panting, she looked at him. Fear and wonder, terror and incredulity were crashing through MJ. She had seen men die, witnessed a nightmare come to life, been swept away into this strange garden. There didn't seem to be anything real left in the world, and she didn't know what would happen next, what bizarre threat or miracle would face her now.

"Whoo!" said the masked man. "Well, it beats taking the subway." _What?_

Mary Jane laughed happily, disbelievingly at the stupid joke. Just like that, the world seemed to settle back around her, all the pieces of her life falling back into place, real and comfortable and entirely changed. He turned at waved at a startled couple sitting on a nearby bench, saying, "Don't mind us, folks, she just needs to use the elevator."

Mary Jane finally understood that she was standing in a rooftop garden in New York, safe, unharmed. Her hero was already moving past her—leaving? She grabbed at his arm. "Wait!" she said breathlessly. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am," he said, serious and low.

"I do?" For a heartbeat, she felt something in the air between them, some hidden desire or unnamed wish connecting them. When he spoke, and the spell was shattered by his cheerful, commonplace tone.

"Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!" Taking a couple of running steps, he flipped over the hedge and low wall at the edge of the roof, falling from sight. MJ stumbled across the grass in her heels, leaning on the parapet to watch him as he swung across a building, running sideways between a row of windows, a faint "Whoo-hoo!" echoing back to her.

His freedom, his glorious, preposterous existence left her with an odd, flowing excitement filling her veins. It was as if she could fly with him, as if she was held here on the ground by nothing but chance. Looking out over the dirty, ordinary buildings of the great city, she saw the world for the first time as a world of bright primary colors, epic and grand, filled with hidden impossibilities, only waiting for her to open her eyes and see.

"Incredible," she said.


	6. Walking on Air

**_Chapter Six: Walking on Air_**

"You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"You are _kidding_ me."

"Nope." MJ giggled.

"Oh man. What a rush. We were there, you know, but when everything started coming apart we, like, ran for cover." Marco ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't even see you fall, I just realized everyone was clapping and pointing when he carried you off—I can't believe that was _you_."

Marco and Shawnee had come over right after the fair, worried that MJ might have been on the balcony when it was attacked, and stayed for an impromptu party when they heard about her spectacular rescue. Now MJ was curled up in the one armchair in the apartment, with Marco stretched out on the floor at her feet drinking beer.

Janeen looked up from the couch, where she was sitting cross-legged and painting Shawnee's nails red and blue. "It's all over the news, they keep showing some guy's home video of you falling and getting caught." Janeen finished and put the caps back on the bottles. Shawnee started waving her hands back and forth.

Marco lay back on his elbows and kicked at MJ's foot. "So, go on! What happened? I mean, he swung off with you...and then what?" He widened his eyes and whispered theatrically, "Did he take you to his web?"

"Oh, come on," MJ blushed and rolled her eyes. "He just dropped me off on top of the Rockefeller Center building."

"Where that garden is?" Shawnee raised her eyebrows. "Romantic." MJ blushed again but managed not to get defensive over Shawnee's teasing.

Wandering over to the stereo, Janeen started shuffling through their CD's. "I think it's just fantastic. You got to meet him." She said wistfully, concentrating a little too carefully on switching the music.

MJ's jaw dropped. _Janeen's got a crush on him_. Shawnee interrupted her thoughts, frowning and still absently waving her hands. "You were close, right? So, did you get any idea how he does it?"

"Does what?"

"The whole thing. The webs—I saw him running across a wall, totally horizontal," Shawnee gestured with her wet nails. "Does he have, you know, things on his wrists? Some kind of web-shooter? Was he sticky?" Marco snorted beer through his nose and MJ burst out laughing.

"I don't know," she said when she could. "I mean, I don't think—he, um, well, the costume just felt like spandex"—Marco rolled over laughing, holding his stomach—"shut up, Marco. There wasn't, ah, I mean I don't think he had any kind of—" MJ blushed once more and gave up on being subtle. "He didn't have anything under the costume, as far as I could tell."

Janeen scowled at Marco, who was gasping in air, and sat back down on the couch next to Shawnee. "What do you think? Is he—there's all kinds of stories, you know. Like he's a military experiment that escaped, or one of those mutants, or some kind of alien." She picked at a hole in the upholstery.

Marco sat up and wiped his eyes. "Shawnee just wants to know how he does it so she can stage a spider-fight and write a play about him."

"All I know is, he's incredible," MJ said firmly. She didn't want to continue this conversation. The magic of those few moments with Spider-Man was still bubbling through her, giving her the feeling she was lighter than air, and she was afraid analyzing it would dull the wonder. "He's a hero," she added softly, smiling gently at Janeen, who smiled back.

Her phone rang, and Marco reached over to turn the volume down on the stereo while MJ scrambled to get it. "Hello?"

"MJ, hi."

"Oh, hi, Harry," Mary Jane grimaced and pushed her hair back nervously. She'd meant to call Harry, see if he was alright, and she'd completely forgotten. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, just a bump, it barely hurts—I got checked over at the emergency room, but no one could tell me what happened to you after you fell—Are you hurt? MJ, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault, you could've been killed like Max—"

"Harry, calm down, I'm fine, I should've called you earlier, I guess I was just a little shaken up." That felt like a lie, but it was more true than MJ wanted to admit. Harry's call had immediately brought back the terrible events on the balcony, all those people dead in a heartbeat and a flash of light—she didn't want to think about that. She realized that her hands were trembling.

"I was knocked out cold, you know, I, um—I wish I could've helped you. It, I'm sorry you had to go through that," Harry went on. "It must be terrible—did that Spider-guy hurt you?"

"No, really, I'm fine. And Spider-Man saved my life. It was absolutely incredible." MJ was dimly aware that Harry was looking for reassurance, for her to tell him that he hadn't let her down. Somewhere in her subconscious, a vague wash of anger seeped through her mind. She'd almost died, and what she needed right now was someone strong enough to hold her and let _her_ know everything was fine, not someone who fell apart emotionally in a crisis. Consciously, she felt immensely tired of Harry and wished the conversation could be over. She took a deep breath. "Spider-Man was incredible."

"Incredible? What do you mean, he's incredible?"

"I mean, he chased that thing away, caught me when I fell, and took me away from that horrible place," MJ laughed a little. "I think it'll be a long time before I go to a fair again." She looked down at her feet and drew her toe in circles over the carpet. "I'm just thinking about getting some ice cream and pigging out while I forget about it—hey, I know you've got to be upset too—"

"N-No."

"Look—"

"Alright, wait. Stay there, I'm going to come over," Harry said. MJ sighed. She didn't want Harry here, she just wanted to relax with her friends and try to sort out everything that had happened. She didn't need to deal with her boyfriend.

"You don't need to—"

"No, I'm going to come o—"

"No, Harry, please. Really, I just want to take a shower and get some sleep." MJ shoved her hair behind one ear and went on. "You know, really, I'm tired. Long day, right?"

"Alright, fine. Fine." Harry didn't sound particularly sympathetic. She looked over at the others, who were all openly eavesdropping. Rolling her eyes, she turned to face the wall as Harry said, "Will you call me in the morning? And, and...we'll go and have breakfast, and...um, I wanna buy you something."

_Oh, please._ "Harry, that's...why?"

"Because, I want to. It'll make you feel better." Like the pretty new dress her mom had bought her. Harry was trying, he wanted her to be OK. It wasn't his fault she didn't want to see him.

"I'll call you when I get up, and we can go to breakfast," she said, trying to sound like she was looking forward to it.

"OK. And, and...what do you mean, incredible?"

"Come on, Harry, he saved my life, he's incredible, OK? Let it go, I'm tired, I just want to go to bed. Good night."

"Alright. I'm sorry. Sleep tight," MJ hung the phone up, hearing Harry's voice just as she dropped the receiver on the cradle. _Oops, was he still talking?_ She cringed guiltily. _Nothing I can do about it now._

She threw herself back into her chair and glared around at her friends. "You know, I bet Harry doesn't have friends that listen in on private conversations," she mock growled.

"Come on, Shawnee, we'd better go. MJ's really, really tired," Marco answered.

"Yep. Party over," Shawnee sniffed sadly. "She just wants to go to bed."

Mary Jane threw a pillow at Marco. "Don't make me feel worse, guys. What's wrong with me, when I don't even want my boyfriend to come give me sympathy?"

Marco snorted. "What's wrong with your boyfriend, that he isn't already over here? We didn't stop to ask, did we?" He looked at Shawnee for support.

"Nope." Shawnee looked thoughtfully at MJ. "Guess what it comes down to is, if you don't want him around, maybe you should let him know, not lead him on."

"I'm not leading him on," she snapped. "I like Harry a lot. I...look, I'm just—" MJ stopped. She was stung by Shawnee's accusation, and suddenly felt that she was genuinely really, really tired. Harry was a good person, cute, generous—not the bully Flash had always been. What was wrong with her that she kept treating him like this? She wiped at her face. "Look, not to ruin the party, but I do think it's been a long day," she said apologetically.

Standing up and stretching, Marco laughed. "It's OK, girlfriend, we're gone."

Shawnee gathered her purse, trying to keep her nails from smudging. Shrugging at MJ, she said, "Sorry, didn't mean to come down on you."

"No, don't worry about it," MJ stood up to hug her and walked both of them to the door, exchanging good-byes. Janeen was already checking the locks on the windows and throwing away empty bottles.

Climbing wearily into bed a few minutes later, MJ's mind was buzzing. The events of the day flashed by, her thoughts and impressions tumbling through her head. Trying to relax, she shoved aside her worries about Harry and her remembered fear from the balcony, deliberately concentrating on those few, wonderful moments in Spider-Man's arms. Slowly relaxing, she went over their brief, puzzling conversation, and began to daydream. What if he came back? What if she saw him again, and this time he stayed, drew closer...her imagination supplied several improbable fantasies. Smiling, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Norman Osborn couldn't sleep. His mind was buzzing, filled with strange images and thoughts. He tried to remember what had happened during the day—he'd gone to the Unity Fair, hadn't he? But he couldn't quite picture what had happened. Wait, right, he hadn't made it. He hadn't made it, and someone had bombed the OsCorp balcony. He hadn't been there. Of course. Board Members were dead, murdered—Harry had called, nearly hysterical. Norman rolled over, fighting the headache. It was all right, wasn't it? In the long run, it was a good thing...the merger couldn't go through now. On that comforting thought, he drifted off to sleep. 

He dreamed he was flying, soaring smoothly over Times Square. Everything was alright. He was powerful, unstoppable, hovering above people milling like ants along the street. He was...alone. He saw Harry, cowering on the balcony. Slow, sullen Harry, always left behind. The balcony exploded and he soared away from it, unconcerned. No one could match him, no one could catch him. Wait. There was one. A red-and-blue streak leaped through the air, confronted him.

Rolling restlessly in his sleep, Norman couldn't break free from the dream. He felt the impact of fists, astonishingly painful. This amazing creature rose up to defeat him just as total victory was within his grasp. He stared into an eerie, blank face. Suddenly, he reached out one hand, and his enemy took it, nodding as they turned together against the screaming ants. He saw the faces of people he knew, faces that crumpled and tore under their combined attack. Was it a nightmare or a vision?

When Norman woke up in the morning, he was sweaty and still tired. He didn't remember dreaming.

* * *

Mary Jane hung up the phone and vented with a short, frustrated scream. 

"Another one, huh?" Janeen said sympathetically.

The day after the Unity Fair, MJ had given an interview to a journalist from the _Big Apple News_, which had published it under the huge headline "Spider-Man's Girl". The article had reported her words accurately enough, but had managed to imply that a story of sex and conspiracy was hidden behind the violent attacks—hinting at some secret connection between her, Spider-Man, and the green attacker, which was ludicrous.

It had also played up her relationship with Harry, slyly emphasizing her lack of money and her rich boyfriend. When she'd read the article, MJ had been horrified. The reporter had seemed so nice. She hadn't hesitated to talk to him, and it wasn't like he was from the _Daily Bugle_. But apparently every paper in New York was following the _Bugle_'s lead and contributing to the smear campaign against Spider-Man. Now, her name was out there right alongside his, and since the paper had come out the phone hadn't stopped ringing.

MJ went back to ironing her uniform. "Yep, one more wacko. Told me I was two-timing, greedy, and dating a criminal freak. I didn't wait to hear what I deserved for my evil deeds."

Janeen paused to make a tick on the list they'd stuck to the refrigerator. "That makes...nineteen wackos, three jobs posing for so-called artistic pictures, seven jerks claiming to be Spider-Man and asking you out, and one offer of marriage. You sure you don't want to leave the phone off the hook?"

"Can't. I may not have much of a chance at that new play, but I don't want them calling and not getting me." Mary Jane shook the uniform out and stepped back into her room to change. "Besides," she called through the open door, "someone decent might hire me after all the publicity."

"Right."

"Hey, I can hope." MJ hopped out of her room, trying to put her shoe on and get to the hall closet at the same time. Straightening up, she grabbed her coat and purse and opened the outside door. "Look, I know it's a pain...but if you take messages while I'm gone, I'll buy dinner tonight, promise."

Janeen shrugged. "You should get a machine, then you could screen your calls. But sure, don't worry about it. You owe me Chinese." MJ waved and took off.

The diner was even worse. Enrique seemed to take her sudden fame as a personal insult, and kept making comments about "Spider girls who think they're too good to be on time for work". The other waitresses teased her, asking her for Spider-Man's phone number, or asking her how her love-life was going. Mary Jane worked on, remembering how much she needed her paycheck, and practiced acting like it was just a big joke, laughing along with the teasing and keeping a big smile on her face while she slapped the plates down and took orders.

After work, she picked up some take out Chinese and made her way wearily home, to collapse with her feet up and watch television with Janeen. The Unity Fair attack was still on the news, but no one seemed to have any idea where that green thing had come from, or who was behind it. Nearly everyone was calling it the 'Green Goblin' now, which didn't seem to be much progress in identifying it. Most of the reports named Spider-Man as one of the attackers, which made her want to scream with frustration. Didn't anyone appreciate what he'd done? MJ was ready to give up on the awful day and go to bed early, when the phone rang.

"Your turn, I've answered it enough," Janeen muttered from her nest of blankets on the couch. MJ sighed and grabbed the receiver.

"Ms. Watson?"

"Yes, speaking."

"This is Dan Creel from the Gilly Theater. You read for us earlier this week?"

"Yes, I did."

"We'd like you to come in for an audition tomorrow at nine. Can you make it?"

"Absolutely. I'll be there." Mary Jane stared at the receiver for a few minutes after her caller hung up, unable to believe it. Her first call back.

"Yes!" _And I thought it was a bad day._ Suddenly wide awake, MJ plunged into her room and began planning what she was going to wear. Then she sprinted back out to the living room, startling Janeen.

"Sorry. I've got to call everyone I know!" Janeen laughed and shut the TV off, and MJ started dialing.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, it's another chapter. I'm hoping to get my writing on some kind of a schedule, and start getting things done faster. Will it actually happen, though, is the question. Thanks, as always, for your kind reviews. Hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the next chapter._


	7. Cobwebs and Kisses

_**Chapter Seven: Cobwebs and Kisses**_

Harry Osborn was taking a bath. He had filled the old tub in his and Peter's tiny apartment with steaming water and gooey green bubble bath soap, and immersed himself in the heat. The doctor in the emergency room had recommended a bath as a muscle relaxant to soothe his bruises from the balcony attack, and it felt wonderful. He batted a few bubbles around and sank deeper into the tub.

Maybe the bath would clear his mind. Lately, he felt so lost. His dad was acting weird, even more distant and preoccupied than usual. Well, that was no surprise – most of his board of directors had been vaporized a couple of days ago. Norman Osborn was working hard, trying to manage everything on his own. What was he supposed to do, drop everything because Harry _might_ have been seriously hurt? He was fine, he was all right.

Even MJ wasn't wasting time sympathizing with him. The thought of her spectacular rescue woke a sick, hurt feeling in his stomach. He felt that every time he heard the excited admiration in her voice when she mentioned Spider-Man. And she mentioned him a lot. Oh, she'd asked if Harry was OK, fussed over his band-aid for a second or two, and then gone right back to rhapsodizing over the vigilante who had rescued her. Was it Harry's fault he had been knocked unconscious? He frowned and sloshed around, letting the water slap lightly over his hands. He was starting to hate the mere sound of Spider-Man's name.

Then there was Peter. Harry scrubbed at his face. Sure, he should have told Pete about MJ, about them dating. But just because Peter liked her…he hadn't done anything wrong, asking MJ out. Pete hadn't yelled or anything – well, he wouldn't – but Harry almost wished he had. Then he could defend himself, point out that he'd been totally within his rights, hadn't done anything except ask out a girl that Peter didn't have the guts to date. But Peter had quietly accepted it, agreeing with Harry immediately. Now all his self-justifications were boiling around inside without anywhere to go or anyone to agree that he was a good guy, that he _hadn't_ gone behind his best friend's back.

No matter how he looked at it, though, he kept coming back to the idea that he'd let Peter down. He'd disappointed him, just like he always disappointed his dad. He was beginning to suspect he was a disappointment to his girlfriend too, starting to wonder why she was even dating him. All of it made him feel lost. Who was he, really? Did he have anything to offer anyone? Everyone around him seemed to know exactly who they were and where they were going.

_Face it,_ he thought bitterly, _your dad's a great businessman, your best friend's a genius, and your girlfriend's a successful actress. You're the one with all the problems, and they don't need to listen to you whine._ Harry dunked his head under the water, holding his breath, and surfaced again. The band-aid came off his cut and floated around. Harry stared at it morosely, flicking it back and forth with one finger. He remained sunk in thought until the water cooled, wallowing in his bath and his self-pity, completely unaware that everyone he loved was lying to him.

* * *

Norman Osborn was taking a break. There were reports and files spread over his desk, urgent matters needing his signature, memos calling for immediate action, lists of phone calls that had to be made. Since the death of the board members, his workload had skyrocketed. But he found it hard to concentrate. His mind would drift, long minutes ticking by while he stared into space. He knew, now. He knew how special he was. He'd spoken to the _other_ one this morning, before leaving for work. The empty yellow eyes had met his while that rasping voice spoke to him, instructed him. He needed to get back, to hear the _other_ one explain how it was all going to work out. 

Spider-Man. Yes, Spider-Man had heard his offer. Such a glorious offer, too. That amazing creature would be his partner and his heir. They were two of a kind – extraordinary. It was what he'd always wanted. He'd forgotten, almost, that he had a son. The _other_ one didn't think much of Harry. But Spider-Man could take what the Goblin had done, everything he'd built, and defend it. Rip all those mewling, helpless sheep out of the way of true greatness. Like him, Spider-Man had a true face, a real face, that made him unique. Norman frowned. What if Spider-Man didn't join him? He'd offered him the world, hadn't he? Of course he had. He needed to go home, talk to the _other_ one again.

When he was home, hearing that voice, it all made sense. Here at the office, things got…fuzzy. Things got difficult. He stared blankly at the desk and picked up a pen, preparing to go back to work. But he couldn't make the page he was reading make sense. With a snarl, he shoved the mass of paperwork off the desk, sweeping it clean and hearing the clatter of paperweight and phone and pens hitting the floor with satisfaction. That was better.

Watching their director storm out of the building, the personnel of OsCorp exchanged looks. Everyone knew things were going downhill. Norman Osborn wasn't the leader he had been. Nothing came out of his office these days but vague memos – no decisions, no management. Nearly everyone was putting together a résumé and making new plans. If Norman Osborn was on the edge of a breakdown, it was better to be prepared.

* * *

Mary Jane was taking a deep breath. She had turned up for the callback, and done her best, but the job had been offered to another girl. She'd overslept and had one of those mornings – toast burned, out of hairspray, stubbed her toe, argued with her roommate. In the end, she'd been late to work, and then work had run late and she'd barely had time to change before running to the studio. Man, today had been bad. She was standing on a small stage facing a director now, and since the deep breath didn't seem to be enough, she counted to ten before she opened her mouth. 

"Thank you." The smile felt more like a grimace, but it was the best she could do.

"You have potential, but you need to do some hard work if you want to be an actress. The community college offers acting lessons." The director was arrogant and dismissive, and MJ felt her throat get tight. She nodded and walked off as quickly as she could without actually running, until she was in the shadows backstage. Then she bent her head and shoved her palms into her eyes, fighting back tears. It was all too much.

She knew her audition hadn't been very good. She was worn out, tired from all the running around today, and the fight she'd had with Janeen before leaving for work had her keyed up and upset.

"_Did you see the _Bugle_? Looks like Spider-Man's going to be arrested."_

"_No way." MJ grabbed the paper and scanned the shrieking headline and then the article. "No way. He is not working with the Green Goblin."_

"_If he did attack the editor, I don't blame him. That paper's done nothing except run Spider-Man down." Janeen leaned on the kitchen counter, crossing her arms._

"_I don't believe he even did that. He's not," Mary Jane hesitated, looking for the right way to put it, "He's got a sense of humor. He wouldn't go after someone just for being a jerk."_

"_Says his girl." Janeen was staring at the wall, not looking at MJ._

"_Oh, please. He saves a dozen people's lives a week." She watched Janeen picking at a nail, astonished by her barely hidden hostility. Then Janeen shrugged, and her mouth twitched into a smile._

"_Sorry, MJ. It's – well, God. Sorry." She shrugged again and laughed nervously. "I'm really jealous, OK? You got to meet him, and since then, you talk like you know him. It gets on my nerves."_

_Hugging herself, Mary Jane sighed. "Right. Thanks for giving me a hard time. I wasn't having a bad day or anything. And it was such a blast, nearly dying."_

"_I said I was sorry."_

"_Look, I've got to get to work." Mary Jane grabbed her purse and her coat. Janeen ran up to her before she got to the door._

"_MJ, wait." Janeen looked embarrassed. "I should've warned you, I get a crush on someone and my brains leak out my ears. I didn't mean to take it out on you."_

"_It's OK." MJ let Janeen pull her into a hug and then chuckled. "Hey, for all we know, you have met him. He could be anyone under that mask!"_

"_Sure, he's really my boss at the yoga studio. Gary's flexible, I never see him nights, and he's got cobwebs all over his apartment. Here I thought it was just because he never cleans house…"_

They'd both laughed. She was glad she hadn't run out in the middle of the fight, but she'd been late to work. Then she'd run home to change, so that she could make this audition. And completely bomb. She dropped her hands and slowly gathered up her possessions, heading out into the wet night. Harry had promised her dinner, and she could stand being pampered for once. Not that it would be easy. Her relationship with Harry had been strained since the Unity Fair and Shawnee's comments about leading him on haunted her uncomfortably. As she walked out the door and down the front steps, she realized she was still holding the script for the audition scene. The director's condescending comment came back to her and she threw it angrily into a sidewalk trash can, before pulling her coat together against the cold.

"Hey, it's me again!"

The familiar voice brought MJ to a halt, and she turned to see Peter Parker jogging down the street toward her. "Hey!" Her face broke into her first genuine smile of the day.

"How was your audition?"

"How'd you know?" She hadn't told Harry. Since she'd already told him she was getting plenty of work, it would be odd to be excited over one audition – although she'd daydreamed about landing the part and telling Harry that she was going to be on TV. And it had never occurred to her to call Peter. But here he was, smiling at her.

"The hotline. Your mom, told my aunt, told me."

"So, you just came by?"

"I was in the neighborhood, needed to see a friendly face." He grinned apologetically. "I took two buses and a cab to get in the neighborhood, but – " MJ chuckled and thought that she was the one who needed to see a friendly face. Peter's open interest in how she was doing, his caring, made the rainy night suddenly seem fresh and welcoming rather than cold and inconvenient. "So how'd it go?"

The unhappiness of a moment before came back over her. "Oh. They said I needed acting lessons." She looked at his concerned face and was able to pull up a chuckle. "A soap opera said I needed acting lessons."

He laughed with her, and the humiliation and disappointment faded into the background. "Well, let me buy you a cheeseburger. The sky's the limit…up to seven dollars, and eighty-four cents."

Laughing and nodding, she confessed, "I'd like a cheeseburger." She really would like it, too. Why was it that she never spent any time with Peter, when talking to him always made her feel better? But she already had a date, and she had to let him know. "Oh, but I'm going out to dinner with Harry."

His face fell, and she asked him if he'd come with them. He was friends with both of them. Why couldn't they spend some time, the three of them together? But when he refused she wasn't surprised. She suspected that going out with Peter and Harry would be awkward. For the first time she wondered if Harry and Peter had talked about her, and what they said about her when she wasn't around. Peter had an odd way of being in sync with her thoughts – his next words answered her unspoken question and confirmed that Harry didn't feel comfortable discussing their relationship with his best friend.

"How's it going with…" She looked down, and he broke off. "Uh, never mind. That's none of my business."

"It's not?" She thought it over, searching Peter's face, and gave into the temptation to put him on the spot. "Why so interested?"

He blushed and began to stammer. "I – I'm not."

"You're not?" She let him know she wasn't buying it.

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know. Why would you be?" They both knew that he was, and why. Peter liked her. He always had, but for the first time she wondered what it would be like to date someone like him – someone who liked her, tacky waitress uniform and all, someone who showed up at her auditions and offered support, someone she could really talk to and didn't feel the need to impress.

She watched his face pass through a dozens different expressions before he replied lamely, "I don't know." She let it go. Maybe she was wrong, and he didn't feel more than friendship for her. It wasn't like she had a great track record with knowing how guys felt. And she didn't love him, right? It wasn't like she giggled over how cute he was or daydreamed about being seen with him, how great it would be to be his girl. No, this wasn't love. This was friendship, and it was sweet, ordinary and comfortable. She needed a good friend.

"Sorry you won't come with us," she said softly. He gave her that apologetic expression again, and lightning flashed overhead. She turned away, and looking over her shoulder said, "I better run, Tiger." She splashed off through the puddles filling the street before he could respond, cheeks burning, hoping he wasn't laughing too hard at the silly nickname. _Tiger? Where did that come from?_ She couldn't stop smiling, feeling better than she had all day, even though the rain had begun to pour down. Wet, lighthearted, and late, she made one of the worst decisions in her life – she decided to cut through the back alleys to the bus stop.

Five minutes later, she realized that one moment of being stupid was going to cost her for the rest of her life. The men had surrounded her, hooting and calling, and although she fought as hard as she could there were just too many. One had a switchblade, and MJ was terrified, not knowing if she would end up dead or end up wishing she was dead. Thrown with her face against a brick wall in a filthy alley in the rain, she wished desperately for someone, anyone, to help her. Then she was free.

Spinning around, MJ peered hesitantly through the wet tails of her hair and saw four men being pulled across the street with webs held by a dark figure standing on the rooftops over the other side of the alley. He flipped easily down to the slick pavement as the thugs tumbled to a stop. They fought against their fate – as helpless as she had been a moment before – and two were thrown clear across the alley into the windows on either side of her. She flinched and covered her head automatically, although she was half convinced this was all a dream. Spider-Man knocked the four men unconscious within seconds. She walked toward him, and seeing her he dropped the last man and looked around anxiously for an escape, his wet hair dripping in what little light there was behind him. _Wet hair? He's not wearing his mask._ MJ ran toward him, calling for him to wait, but he spun gracefully and was gone.

Disappointed, Mary Jane pushed at her hair and glanced around, not expecting to find anything. He hadn't spoken a word, left her as though she was exactly what she'd told Janeen she was – one of dozens of people whose lives he'd saved.

"You have a knack for getting in trouble."

Spider-Man's voice came from right behind her, and she jumped. Turning and laughing, she looked into her rescuer's emotionless mask. He was, bizarrely, hanging upside down. "You have a knack for saving my life." High with relief and excitement, she teased, "I think I have a super-hero stalker."

"I was in the neighborhood." She could hear the self-deprecatory shrug in his voice, as if being there to save her was only to be expected. Looking at him, she could hardly believe he was real. For the second time in a week she had lost her life and he had handed it back to her as easily as some other good Samaritan might return a lost purse.

"You are – amazing," she said.

"Some people don't think so." There it was again, like his immediate flight to hide his face, a vulnerability that caught at her heart. The gratitude that welled through her told her that whatever people thought, this was a good man.

"But you are."

"Nice to have a fan."

"Do I get to say thank you this time?" MJ reached for his mask, not quite believing her own daring. But this couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Maybe he had been looking out for her. Maybe he knew, somehow, that she had needed him tonight. And he had stayed, stayed to speak to her, let her hear how much he too needed someone tonight.

"Wait." The command showed a trace of panic, but Spider-Man didn't move. Without words, Mary Jane knew – _knew_, as if their thoughts were perfectly synchronized – that he would let her unmask him. And she knew he understood that she wouldn't do it, wouldn't take that step for him, not until he was ready. Carefully, she tugged at the seam where his mask met his costume and pulled the soaked fabric down over his chin.

Leaning forward, she cradled his head in her hands and met his lips in a kiss that deepened instantly into something much more than a thank you. It was a communication more perfect than anything she'd every experienced, a giving and receiving of passion, recognition, joy, a discovery of another soul that left her stunned. At that moment, she knew that what they shared wasn't a dream, but more real than the rain, the cold, the night itself.

Trying not to break the connection, she stretched the red fabric back up, keeping their skin touching as long as possible before he disappeared once more behind his mask. In an instant, he shot upward into the sky, and she let him go. Once more she could feel the rain, and laughing she raised her face to the drops falling like diamonds.

* * *

_A/N: I promised this to betty yesterday, but I was having trouble getting into my account. Also, not my best chapter ever...but it works great as a break from 'Boy.' :-D_


End file.
